


Night Sun

by bittenfeld



Category: Miami Vice, Miami Vice (TV), Miami Vice - Alternate Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Male Slash, Slash, Vampire Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 03:51:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7559035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittenfeld/pseuds/bittenfeld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castillo, Jack Gretsky, Felix Lawson – operatives for the Company – living deep undercover, in an alien universe –  a universe of death, of blood hunger… of unspoken secrets… And now Sonny Crockett appears…</p><p>...“We die, yet we go on living.  We are night hunters…”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Sun

We die, yet we go on living.

We are night hunters.

In one sense of the phrase, that is what I have been doing for the past eighteen years:  Vietnam, Military Intelligence;  Laos, Cambodia, the Company; Thailand, DEA;  now Miami, Narcotics and Vice Division of the Metro-Dade Police Department.  Eighteen years of intelligence work, sometimes deep undercover, changing covers whenever necessary, letting one “persona” die, so to speak, and taking on another.  And whatever real life we had before this rôle-playing, whatever we were, whoever we were, vanished long ago, so long ago that it doesn’t even seem to have existed at all.

Jack is dead now.

Together we died eight years ago, in the ambush, in the Thai mountains above Mae Sai.  That time, the doctors in Bangkok brought us both back to life.  But now Jack is dead once more, and this time there will be no resurrection.

I killed him last week.  A part of me died as well – yet I continue to live.

We made love not five minutes before I shot him to death in the Buddhist temple last Tuesday afternoon.  I couldn’t have known that it would be our last time together, nor did I realize that he would trick me into destroying his life.  Nobody watching us in the dark quietude of the temple courtyard knew what we were doing.  We didn’t touch physically as we made love then.  Only our minds entwined and shared, and we filled each other with thoughts and memories and caresses, carried each other up to acute ecstasies.  Only afterwards did we touch, embrace so intensely as I have not done with another human being in a very long time.  Perhaps some part of me knew subliminally that something was wrong, that we would not see each other again.  I buried my face against his shoulder, clasped his body tightly to my own, filled my lungs with his scent, my hands with his flesh, my mind with his presence, and took him into myself.

I stand in front of the sliding glass doors of the dining room now, gazing out over the twilit-shadowed garden.  Orange rays from the setting sun scatter a sparkling net over the broad expanse of the Pacific, tint evening clouds pink and yellow.

Cool black silk caresses my skin.  I tighten the kimono sash.  I had hoped that the shower would wash away the sensation and the scent of death.  It didn’t.

They said Jack had been tracking other agents and assassinating them, agents from the other side, agents from our side.  They said he was collecting debts.  They implied he liked to kill.  They shouldn’t have been surprised – that was what the Company had trained us to do.  For eighteen years he was a paid assassin, a hunter, even though the Company had another name for it, a polite euphemism for the media.  But now he was acting as a free agent, settling personal scores, and that made the Company nervous.  They said he was uncontrollable.  They said he should be eliminated.

Maybe it was all true.  Maybe you become obsessed after hunting long enough, the drive thrumming in your blood.  Maybe you can’t stop yourself.

Felix Lawson went out hunting tonight.  He said somebody should continue where Jack left off.  He urged me to join him.  I declined.  I’ve had enough blood for awhile.

Lawson can’t get enough.

But last Tuesday I received my surfeit.  Last week I could smell Jack’s blood as he died there on the temple floor.  Even though I stood apart from his fallen form, among a gathering of other people, I could almost taste salty iron-warm blood in my mouth.  Frothy bright-red fluid pumped from his torn chest onto the dark suitcoat, oxygenated blood, life-giving fluid, even as his life-force inexorably drained away.

I can still taste it.  The lingering sensation threatens to upset my stomach.  I wish I could forget.

Behind me, the front door opens, and bare footsteps approach across the polished hardwood floor.  I know who it is, even before I look over my shoulder.

Dressed in white shirt half-open down his chest, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, loose white slacks, Sonny looks at me from halfway across the room.  His expression is weary, as if he has absorbed some of my frustration and fatigue from this past week.  Eyes are tired, but watch me intently, silently, asking me something that he won’t put into words.  Twin lines creasing either side of his set lips lend his face an older, mature appearance, so unlike the youthfully exuberant man I first met three years ago.  He too has seen a lot of life and death and the struggle of it all.  He comes to me to help him forget.

He comes to me to help _me_ forget.

Without a word, he drops to his knees before me, eyes hungry, desperate.  Carefully he reaches up to the hem of the short kimono, parts the front edges.  Beneath the robe I am nude.  His eyes glance up at my face briefly, as though to ask permission for what he is about to do.  I watch him without answering, without blinking; and he looks back down as his fingers hesitantly draw open the black silk to expose my soft maleness.

For a moment he stares at it, as if he’s never seen it before.  He has, in fact, several times.  He has needs that he doesn’t speak of, which he knows I will satisfy; and in return, he fulfills my privacies.  We are two men, different, and yet alike.  Both of our demands require deep intimacy, profound communion.

He always acts as though each encounter is our first.

Hands slide beneath the silk, caress the front of my thighs, rest on my pelvic bones, fingers spread on my buttocks.  Then he leans forward, shallow excited breaths whispering from his throat, and touches his lips to my sex.

I can’t stifle a moan in my own throat.

Gently, yet eager with anticipation, he nuzzles into my pubic hair, kisses the limp shaft, pulls the foreskin back to expose the hidden glans, and flicks his tongue over the very sensitive head.  Then he draws back an inch to observe the results, and his warm moist breath feathers against my private flesh.

A tickle of desire warms my blood, and of its own accord, my cock awakens to seek out the teasing caresses.  I feel the vessels as they fill with blood and stiffen my swelling flesh.

Sonny coaxes it along with kisses, light brushes, sometimes stroking his lips against the distended veins, sometimes wetly tonguing the slick glans, sometimes sucking my engorging testicles, sometimes licking the tender opening.

At that, I come up hard; almost of their own volition, my hips begin to move, rubbing my genitals against Sonny’s face, seeking out further stimulation to begin the climb to resolution.  My fingers slip into his hair, gripping and tugging until I know it must hurt him.  My rising cock demands entrance between his lips.  Acquiescently he opens his mouth, and I push into that warm wet cavern.

His eyes are closed in concentration, his brow creased.  His cheeks hollow as he sucks.  His teeth lightly rake, tongue massages.  With both hands I press his face to my belly, feel the rush of hot breath from his nostrils against my skin.  He clutches my buttocks; they tense and relax, tense again in his grasp, as I pump into his mouth.  The short kimono skirt slips sensuously about my hips and thighs, about his forearms and head.

No one else sees either of us for what we really are, not even our co-workers at OCB with whom we work so closely, depending on each other for our very lives.  They think I am distant, unreachable, enigmatic.  But Sonny understands my secrets, even though I haven never spoken of them to him.  They see Sonny’s brightness, his affability, his jocular manner.  I see his dark side, his hunger.

Momentarily he breaks our rhythm to pull a breath, then settles back into his work more intent than before, to suck me all the way to climax now.  One hand trails from my ass to fondle my jostling balls.  He squeezes them, manipulates them, twists them hard to stimulate me with pain as I roughly tug his hair.

I am achingly erect now, sliding my shaft back and forth through wet squeezing sucking lips.  Gradually I let myself submit to the building tension, release the tight control on my body and emotions, as need roils in my blood and in my brain and in my cock.  Adding to the salivary lubrication, my pulsing organ leaks pre-seminal fluid; I feel it bubble out.  Sonny’s tongue teases the underside ridge, teases and prods right where the smooth tight glans joins the shaft, and stars flash behind my eyes.

My body takes over now, hard-edged need drives me, my blood is on fire.  Willingly Sonny opens his throat to me, and I thrust into him, breath rasping harshly now.  He takes me, even though it gags and chokes him.

My head tilts back in the grip of passion, nostrils flare.  I lick my dry lips, and moustache hairs prickle my tongue.  A drop of sweat dribbles down my right temple into my sideburn.  I want to shoot my fluid into him, fill him with my cum.  And Sonny begs me for it with every throb of his blood-pulse.  My face is flushed, I feel heat radiating all over my skin.  My own pulse pounds in my ears.  Sweat-soaked hair clings to my nape.  I sense power building in my loins, drawing me to the peak of raw need.  Convulsively my balls tighten, then power and need and heat surge through my pounding cock, and shoot into Sonny’s mouth, hot viscid fluid which he swallows and swallows, sucks out of me… stars bursting behind my eyes, sparks zagging along my nerves… I crest the peak, then slide down the other side, gasping and panting, moaning, quivering with after-shock, until the world finally settles down once again, and I open my eyes.

Gently he releases me.  I look down at him, eyes dulled with satiety.  My discharged weapon still thrusts out near his face, as though waiting to be coaxed into another high-potency blast, but I am not ready for such another, nor will I be for some time.

Sonny however is ready for his own satiation now.  He needs more of me as he comes, my hot cum is not enough to arouse him.

Rising from his knees, he stands before me, hands resting lightly on my shoulders, green eyes gazing at me like translucent crystal, begging, pleading, offering me his soul, if only… if only…  His fingers slip beneath the silk cloth at my neck and chest.

I unfasten his trousers and pull them down with his briefs, exposing him blatantly as his face lowers to my throat.  He doesn’t realize that I already own his soul.  I grasp his throbbing flesh, rub my thumb over his purple cockhead.  He whimpers, and I feel sharp teeth break the skin at the juncture of my neck and shoulder.  A  sudden rush of heat sheets over my skin, as my blood fills his mouth.  His lips press tightly to the little wound.  I feel him shudder uncontrollably against me like a desperate addict finally getting a long-denied fix, as he drinks freely.  His captive manhood pulses in my hands.  Again he moans a little noise, pumping eagerly into my milking grasp, while his semen-slick lips taste and suck my life-fluid.  I can feel the softness of his tongue, the firmness of his teeth, as he sucks, and a hotter surge of erotic need flashes through me, fevers my blood.  Even my languid cock rises to attention once gain, delirious in its own need to fill the pleasure-giving mouth, even though it has no more libation to offer in communion.  Raw energy and power seethe in my loins, searing from the focal point of his desperate sucking.  My blood is on fire – surely it must burn him.  Now I understand the driving hunger of meth freaks.  I’ll pay any price to keep Sonny with me.

Vigorously he pumps into my hand, moaning gasps for air, needing my blood as intensely as he needed my cum, forcing himself brutally to the edge of climax.

And then, without any further urging, his orgasm explodes, he shivers spasmically, caught in a whirlwind of concussive release.  My left hand still holds his shaft, the other still presses his face to my throat.  He swallows my blood, as his ejaculate spatters my belly, my thighs, anoints my skin with hot cream, while his body heaves uncontrollably.

I clasp him to me, and let him ride out the surge.  Until finally he begins to weaken, then I just hold him close, hold him as I embraced Jack but a few days ago, feel his heart throb erratically beneath his breastbone, feel him gradually return to reality.  Semen and blood smear his lips and cheeks and chin.  He gasps to regain his spent wind, arms slide around my waist inside the kimono.  Sweaty blond hair clings to my chest, while one clotting tendril of blood still oozes from the wound at my throat.

I know what Sonny is – I have for some time.  And still I have chosen to invite him into my house, to allow him into my life.  He comes to me in his hunger, but I need him as much as he needs me.  He must feed his craving, yet he wants to satisfy me as well.  We are both addicts, and we are not ashamed.  It is a mutually pleasurable symbiotic relationship.  We don’t reveal it to others, nor do we even try to explain it to ourselves.  We just take from each other, and give what we have.

Jack is gone now, but Sonny is here bringing sunlight into my existence.  Even so, I can still taste Jack’s blood in my throat.

But now the taste is sweet.

* * * * * FINIS * * * * *


End file.
